[Black Thought]On the actual, I swings like I'm SatchelAnd brings groovy things to my peoples on the naturalInclined to align, index to other flow and through beatsThe butta kid got yet another bid to serveIn groovy stew, peace to all the kids who smuggle buddhaCross the border cause it beez a remedy to? Cola roda?Recruiter of refugees, the urbanite objectsWreck to catch the gravy, grass be the po' babyThat I planted in the long run, dig the rhythmic song fromThe one who goes left see, how many brothers test me?Touch, the texture of the weak and yo I wrecks the combFrom picking cause I'm cool and umm, kicks 'pon the domeI'm kicking, on the regular I puts masses in motionsShit'll split your mind open like a canteloupe thenThe Roots and the boots Don boost to stomp potholesMr. Job Kicker, ease off, cause I got soul enoughTo sell it, yo let spell it, B-L-A-C-KT-H-O-you-G-H-T don't playWhen I skits off a land funk that boogies up your pants andKicks flavor dug by your gramps in JohansenJazz cats that's hip, plus them brothers who scrambleYour uncle and your cousins and the wino who gamble..